The Music Never Skips a Beat
by treeflamingo
Summary: An iPod Shuffle Challenge.  Ten oneshots based on/around/against songs that my iPod shuffled up at me.  Various pairings, themes, etc.  Beware spoilers and possible crack.  Rated T for occasional language and/or sexiness.
1. Present Tense

**A/N: **This story is exceptionally **spoilerrific **for everything up to and including the July 2010 chapter. This story represents a few firsts for me: it's my first piece for Skip Beat!; it's the first time I've written anything that so closely follows the loose ends in current manga canon (this takes place right after the events of the most recent chapter as of beginning August 2010); it's the first oneshot for a large and ambitious iPod shuffle project I've just opened (50 songs spread across 5 fandoms, whoa!). There will be 10 songfic oneshots for Skip Beat! I promise, not all of them will be this long and... heavy. This song is based on **Pearl Jam's Present Tense**, pairing is **RenxKyoko**, rating is **T **for language.

Regarding the naming conventions - While Kyoko refers to him as "Tsuruga-san" even in her thoughts, I've got Ren referring to Kyoko in his head as simply "Mogami." He seems to reserve the name "Kyoko" for when he's deliriously reminiscing about their briefly shared childhood. I decided to drop the honorific from her last name because I like the idea that he can't keep her that distanced from himself in his own head (and because I can't remember what anime!Ren calls her in his inner monologues - if anybody knows, please tell me!)

Anyway, thank you for reading! Oh, also? I own nothing.

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_do you see the way that tree bends?  
does it inspire?  
leaning out to catch the sun's rays  
a lesson to be applied  
are you getting something out of this all encompassing trip?  
you can spend your time alone, redigesting past regrets, oh  
or you can come to terms and realize  
you're the only one who can't forgive yourself_

Tsuruga Ren dropped his head into his hands and sighed heavily. He felt distinctly like an ass. Barely two weeks into this mission of theirs, and he'd already messed up twice. Not like Mogami noticed. She still had this phenomenally disheartening hero-worship thing going on. No matter what he did, how childishly or contrarily or poorly he acted, she assumed it was all tied up in some web of genius that she was too novice to comprehend. It made him want to yell at her, take it all out on her. _I'm just a man, dammit! Don't burden me with your idiot expectations! Don't force your perfectionism on me!_ Except that Tsuruga Ren never yelled. In fact, even the person he had been before Tsuruga Ren wasn't really a yeller. And high expectations were what he thrived on. He _lived_ for perfectionism – for the recognition afforded him by himself and others when he did a truly excellent job. He didn't know why she was so frustrating to him, couldn't explain half his reactions to her, couldn't fathom the intensity of any of them, didn't feel like he had the energy to try.

_I'm just a man, dammit_, he wanted to yell at her, right now. As if it were her fault. As if anything at all were her fault. Hell, she was the only thing holding him together. First, with the fight outside of Jeanne D'Arc, when she'd imposed herself like a wall between the man he'd become and the violence of his past. Now, when she inadvertently forgave him for crimes she didn't even know he had committed.

Filming so far had been riddled with problems in much the way that a rusted Ford parked on the wrong side of the Los Angeles tracks is riddled with bullet holes. The script itself was hard enough. The sets, the emotions, the director's aversion to CGI (requiring all the gory realism to be depicted in all its realistic gore by the actors themselves). The characters were each equally painful to portray; Ren was sure he wasn't the only one grappling with personal demons for the sake of this project. The final complication was, of course, that all the actors were playing double – playing a character, and playing a player. It was the nature of the beast, really, and the director's patience (and perverse, unrestrained affability) intimated that he had perhaps expected such issues.

Perhaps. Perhaps he had expected clashes of personality, or dangerous prima donnas, or maybe even an overenthusiastic injury or two. But Ren felt certain, quite guiltily certain, that the director had not expected a display such as he had just witnessed.

Cain Heel was an intimidating personage to the rest of the cast, not only for his unnervingly effortless portrayal of the murderous BJ. Cain was a huge man, with an alchemic temper – apathetic in general, transmuted into icy antipathy when either his sister (the trollop, the sleaze, the incorrigibly incestuous) Setsuka or his own brain-child of a character came under attack. The main female lead approved of neither.

The woman in question was of predictable Japanese-celebrity stature: small about the waist, better endowed above than below, thin legs tapering into well-turned ankles, a fine, small-featured face sporting large eyes of dubious genetic provenance. Ren had a feeling he knew who she was, but refused to search for her name in his mind. It was an act of actor's loyalty. An act the girl didn't seem eager to reciprocate. Either that or she was suffering from a serious case of character bleed. Ren was willing to believe either.

They had wrapped shooting on one of the bloodier scenes. Ren/Cain/BJ was ruthless. He OK'd on the first take, and was not patient with his opposite's repeated NG's. He loaded, cocked, and aimed, but it was she who pulled the trigger.

"_Personally, I think the director OK'd you out of pure fear."_

_Cain's eyes narrow, his muscles tighten about his frame. The actress looks wicked, because she can see that he's taken the bait._

"_Pure fear, you know. Pure fear of what you'd do if he let you shoot it _again_."_

_Narrower, tighter; wickeder._

"_That wasn't even an act, was it? That was just you. Just Cain Heel."_

_Cain's blood turns to both ice and fire and he does not feel his hand tightening around a nearby prop – a crow bar._

"_Must be easy to basically portray yourself, huh? That look in your eyes isn't acting. Nobody can_ act_ a killing like that. You're just living out your life here, aren't you?"_

_Crowbar raises; wicked eyes flicker at it; wicked lips part to grin; she's enjoying this._

"_You're not playing a murderer. You _are_ a murderer." Pause. "Cain."_

_Crowbar smashes, backswept, into a piling; metals buckle; high rigging quivers; ropes, wrenches, spare things fall. Wicked eyes acquire a nervous hysteria; she's loving this. Ren feels Cain give, although whether to BJ or to himself he isn't sure. His shoulders hunch, muscles coiling, and he advances a step. A dare._

_She advances two. Double dog._

_Double awareness of the surrounding atmosphere – the raw fear, the unrepentant voyeurism. Split reactions – she loves it, he feels his morals cave against old rebellions._

_Then Setsuka materializes, in the other actress's face, staring down (her heels make her taller). Places a hand intrusively on the other's womb._

"_My brother doesn't like you very much," she says, and somebody in the studio audience whispers an inquiry about whether somebody else is getting this. The whispers are lost to Ren/Cain/BJ, but he hears Setsuka's voice slowly, very slowly, and too clear._

"_Which means I don't like you very much either." Her voice has dropped, but in the quaking silence her words resound. Her hand his slid up to the other girl's sternum, three slim leather-clad fingers between small leather-clad breasts. She leans forward._

"_If you don't back off," she leans out again, "you'll get to see how scary __**I**__ am." She smiles a long, thin smile, her chin cocked up and right, her eyes still down, straight down, piercing, and her lip ring catches the harsh studio light, reflects it menacingly._

_Ren, at some point, has put the crowbar down._

_Setsuka draws her hand back, turns sinuously with her hips, not her heels, short skirt hitching about torn stockings, metal things on her belly-baring vest -shirt clinking softly together._

_She walks out, past Cain, trusting him to follow. She is not betrayed._

Ren sighed again, face in hands. _The kicker_, he thought, _is that she didn't even deny it._ That girl, expert at doing all manner of painful things with his heart, defeated (saved) him again, by the simple act of omission. She didn't shout, "My brother is not a murderer!" because, apparently, she didn't care. Setsuka loved him anyway. _Setsuka_, he repeated to himself. _Setsuka_. Not Mogami. She thought he was in character. She responded in character. She was perfect. Her loyalty and her trust, her dedication to the act. And he wanted to yell at her? It made him feel filthy.

The director was probably livid, and probably, as accused, afraid. A characteristic shared by Ren and Cain (although not by BJ), was an inconvenient habit of forgetting his own size and power. It bothered Ren that he had done so much damage to the set (he had overhead the gaffer estimating repair time – it was not an inconsequential number), especially because he hadn't realized it at the time. It confirmed his own suspicions. BJ was calculating in his violence. Ren, or the boy he had been (less so now, as a man, a character version of himself), was reckless and abandoned. It was his greatest sin, that abandon, that irresponsibility.

"Fool," he whispered, and the word was acrid on his tongue.

He sighed again, turned his head to face the line of trees visible from his perch, the fire-escape stairs down to the studio back lot. They were on location. He clasped his hands, rested his temple on his knuckles, closed his eyes, sighed again. Miserably.

-_II-_

Mogami Kyoko watched Tsuruga-san's folded form from a crack in the door to the stairs. She was worried, brows furrowed, utterly out of character with one hand balled and clutched against her heart. When Cain had gotten in that fight with the other actress, Kyoko recognized something: an air, an aura, that reminded of her of the near-fiasco at Jeanne D'Arc. Setsuka's beloved brother Cain wouldn't let such petty barbs get to him, but Kyoko had a nagging sort of inkling that the Cain Setsuka knew, the BJ the director new, and the Tsuruga-san she knew, where not the only people operating out of that singular body that she had to deal with.

It was the watch that had started her thinking. The stopped watch, the one that Tsuruga-san always wore, that she had never before realized was stopped. She wouldn't ask him about it, of course. Why would Setsuka need to ask? She probably knew already. So it rolled about in her mind, germinated, gestated. Kept her up at night. She began to understand why the President had called her a protective charm, and why hers was a "dangerous mission." It made her grimace, and fear.

When she had stepped into the argument, Setsuka was confident. She knew she could diffuse the situation, and that Brother wouldn't do anything violent while she was in the way. She knew the other actress didn't like her, that she had been pushing her buttons on purpose, and she was glad for the opportunity to shove back a little bit. She would have thanked Brother if she didn't need to give him a severe scolding about making a scene. That was, in fact, why she had hunted him down, up to the top of the back lot fire escape.

Stopped at the door, however, Kyoko was a nervous wreck. She would have bet her entire collection of cursed wax candles that the man on the stairs was Tsuruga-san, not Brother, and _not_ the Tsuruga-san she'd grown used to dealing with since she joined LME. This was the same Tsuruga-san who wore his own personal watch into this act, maybe even the same one who stared in horror at nothing after almost smashing that seaweed-hair-guy's head in. What was she supposed to say to him? How could she possibly help him? Why should she think she could? Why would he open up to her? Dozens of little Kyokos wailed inside her head.

Then he turned his head to the trees and sighed again, eyes closed, and she thought, _Look, everybody needs somebody to talk to sometimes. He talked to Bo, right? He might bully me, but if that relieves his stress, then I don't mind. Go, Kyoko! Go!_

She creaked the door open, padded (graceful despite her ridiculous heels) down two steps to sit behind him. If he heard her, he offered no sign.

She followed the direction of his close-eyed gaze to the trees spreading upward to reach the sun, and thought of how happy they looked. She thought of the fairies (she couldn't help herself) that lived in their branches, thought of them as magic charms, thought of what they must have seen as they protected their tree homes (typhoons, earthquakes, the thousand slings and arrows of outrageous little boys). Thought of something so breathtakingly true that it had be said out loud.

She looked at his back, and made a gamble. When she spoke, there was an ethereal quality to her voice, because she was only halfway speaking out loud to him; halfway, she was speaking in her heart, to herself.

"You know, lots of bad things happen. Bad things happen to people or people do bad things to other people all the time. But, you know, bad things ends, and once they're over, that's it. They're over. I think that's how it should be. Over. I think people should be able to move on." And then, another thought, equally amazing, and it tumbled out of her mouth like the flickering iridescence off blue-purple stone: "Like Corn."

Tsuruga Ren lifted his head.

* * *

**R&R is love! Also, there are some odd little references included in here. Hugs if anybody finds one :) Double hugs if it happens to be obscure :))**


	2. Cautionary Warning

**A/N: **Thanks in advance for reading! Please note that this chapter **definitely lives up to the T rating - do not read if you are squeamish or under 13**. This is a ShokoxSho story (!), which is possibly my favorite pairing in the series. RenxKyoko is wonderful, of course, but there's just so much delicious _horribleness_ about letting Sho hook up with his manager. The song is **Cautionary Warning by John Sykes**, (which is the theme song for Legend of Black Heaven, in case of you have seen that anime). Vague **spoilers **for the **first Reino arc**. Please enjoy - and don't forget: **R&R is love! **Also, I own nothing.**  
**

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_I guess the boy took it one step over the line  
Sold his soul to the dark unholy sign  
Now, only time will tell  
Will it take you down  
Or will you pull through  
It's like a voice from the burning fires of hell  
Selling sin  
Now you've fallen for the spell  
And only time will tell  
Will it take you down  
Or will you pull through  
It's calling out to you_

_You are my instigator  
You are my aggravator  
You are my space invader  
Cautionary warning  
I propose to you_

Sho, with his inflammatory clothing (and flammable hair, God that boy went through product like it was free - it probably was, as far as he was concerned), shocking decorum (decoratively shocking was what he was going for – the essence of visual kei, right there), and indecent jewelry (he had piercings in places he couldn't admit to on most TV shows), was a man to make any woman under 35 feel like pudding in the knees. Shoko wished somebody had warned her.

He was a hellion, of course. He had no regard for her – body, mind, or soul. His clothing crinkled across her floor like old snake skins and he grouched at her to clean it up. His instant ramen cups piled up against the bathtub and he accused her of laziness. Her slender hips took up a corner of the sofa and he whined at her to move so he could stretch out. Or he put his dirty shoes on her lap. It didn't matter to him either way.

Women wanted him. Men hated him. This was his morality.

When he first started staying at her apartment, she had firmly insisted he sleep on the couch, had brushed away his inquisitive hands like a mother with a small child. Like a good manager. She refused to be taken in by the temptation of his clothes. (Sexy, she felt, was most accurately defined as the art of leaving just enough to the imagination. Sho was an artist in more than one medium.) She didn't watch him leave the shower, no matter how conspicuous he was with his towel too lose, his tight muscles, his hair dripping on her carpet. She avoided his eyes when he was singing (hectic, like a man with a fever; irresistible, like an incubus; he glowed). She brushed away his paws, bushed and brushed continuously, like it was her entire job; but her resolution waned, and he noticed. She knew it. She saw it in his eyes (hectic, glowing, irresistible – and he wasn't even singing). Women wanted him. Men hated him. According to his own morality, he was a saint.

It was his voice that did her in. He sang like hellfire – lurid, alluring. At home, just the two of them, his voice quieted and creaked for her, like bedsprings under rhythmic pressure. A hand on her breast (guitar-calloused fingertips but palms _so soft_) that she moved to too slowly, and suddenly his mouth was on her neck, and her hand as it finally reached his paw stretched against him with lacing fingers. He pressed her against the arm of the couch and she was uncomfortable, so she shifted beneath him, incrementally, until their hips formed a sandwich with the cushions and she had lost track of her clothing.

Later, Shoko realized that he may not have been as knowledgeable as he had made himself out to be. He was imaginative and instinctual, but on occasion almost innocent. Her body surprised him sometimes. The places that gave to him and the places that met him firmly. She'd had enough pent-up tension that first time, on the couch, that she was halfway to the finish line by the time he got his pants off. They finished simultaneously. Later, though, she found him leaving for the shower before she was finished with round one. She trained him (with nails dug under his shoulder blades, thighs strong as only a woman's can be, moans and whimpers and grunts that no teenage boy in the history of teenagers could walk away from) to stick around and wait for her, to afford her some patience and generosity, that it would pay off; she always returned the favor in full.

She knew for a fact that she was not his only lover. She'd never caught him in the act, but she'd found panties too small for her in her own bed.

She also knew for a fact that he tested all his new ideas on her. He trusted her, valued her opinion. Sang his new lyrics to her, played his new hooks for her, practiced his fingering for her.

And she also knew: that Kyoko child had a singular choke-hold on his heart; that Kyoko child was the one who'd pulled the trigger on his new genius; that Kyoko child was pure and unknown to him, was familiar and homey to him, in a way that Shoko never could be; that she, Shoko, had her finger through the lynchpin of his security. Denying him sex was no punishment (she wasn't his only source, after all); implying that she wasn't _interested_, on the other hand… (her judgment, he knew, was impeccable; her judgment kept him on top).

Not that it was enough for her. Not that she really wanted any more.

To the recording studio he wore torn jeans (like his thighs had had a run-in with a wolverine), knee high boots (laced, black, thick-souled), a red leather jacket (was that Michael Jackson she saw reflected in the triangles, black striping, snap-panels covering the zippers? Sho refused to admit to his influences) with mesh back to showcase his every sinew as it moved. His hands pressed the headphones tight against his ears, ignoring all her admonitions about a singer's need to protect his hearing. His eyes squeezed shut and his face contorted like she when she rode him to the crest. And the voice-and-lyrics that poured into the microphone were those of a devil: carrying ages of sorrow but no conscience to give him the solace of regret.

Shoko felt herself move inside her stiff skirt suit.

And she wished to God that somebody had given her a warning.


	3. Time To Pretend

**A/N: **Installment three, here we go! Wow, that was fast. I posted Fic The Second, what, two days ago? Sheesh. Anyway, this one also is **rated T**, so proceed with warning. Please note that this particular theme could have taken quite a bit more vulgarity than is used. I, however, am not a huge fan of vulgarity, so I've confined myself to a few hells and damns but selected some rather offbeat terminology where the more colorful words might be expected. The song for this fic is **MGMT - Time to Pretend**, and the pairing is **ShoxLotsofHotChicks**. I've included a few verses of the songspiration, but really, I pulled from the entire thing for this piece (heavily from the spirit, which, at first glance, matches neither the tempo nor the selected verses below). Finally, and perhaps most importantly, this fic may or may not be all over the place, so **concrit would be especially appreciated! **Oh... and one more thing... I own nothing! Plz to no suing kthxbai.

* * *

_I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw, I'm in the prime of my life.  
Let's make some music, make some money, find some models for wives.  
I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and f*** with the stars.  
You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars._

_This is our decision, to live fast and die young.  
We've got the vision, now let's have some fun.  
Yeah, it's overwhelming, but what else can we do.  
Get jobs in offices, and wake up for the morning commute?_

"Shouuuuuu," whined the girl on his right, the one in the pink and gold lamé, "when are we gonna _blow_ this joint?" She wriggled her skinny-bony thighs against his hip, her sequins catching against his buckles, and pouted up at him.

"Whenever the hell I'm ready to," Sho said, liquor-slow, and lolled his head to look at her. He kinda wished she would get her unsexy butt out of his chair so he could have more play room with the bombshell on his left. He examined Pink-and-Gold-Lamé; maybe he'd just dump her on the floor. She had smooth brown hair that fell asymmetrically against her shoulders, brown eyes which reflected the color-strobes interestingly, nice legs, decent tits, even if her butt was too skinny.

She was a stupid tart, all right, but she looked like a _delicious_ tart. He wondered if she was strawberry flavored. She sure as hell wasn't cherry. He snorted and decided to let her stick around for a while. And tried to remember her name.

"Cookie."

She pouted. "I'm Melodie."

"Whatever."

"Sho," demanded the bombshell on his right. This chick had to be half American or something. Light hair, big, almond-shaped hazel eyes, a _serious_ rack. She threaded a finger through his belt loop.

"Baby."

Baby slid one leg in between his. "Sing to me."

"What?"

"Sing to me!"

"It's too loud!" He suddenly remembered that he was annoyed at the decibel-defying club hit pulsating in the background, shaking tables like a tremor on the heavy beat. The hell was that, a simple reverse beat? The whole damn song? In _Korean?_ Musical _trash_. And they dared to play it so loud that he couldn't even have a decent conversation with Hotty McHottyPants who was practically _sitting on his lap_? Sho was gonna have to pop a few caps in a few places the sun didn't shine. He started to get up, which was difficult, which was _irritating_, until he remembered that it was because of Sexy McSexyButt in his lap, which made it not so irritating anymore.

He spun his face to look at her (why the hell had he looked away?), and for a minute it seemed like she had a couple of heads all kind of circling around the end of her (slim, white, lily-petal, _begging_ for hickeys) neck. He wondered if he was drunk, or if she really had multiple heads. Whatever. Either way, she was hot.

The Korean reverse-beat musictrash in the background faded, transitioned to something sexier, in English, with an interesting rhythm. He recognized the singer's voice. Couldn't place her name (or her face, or her body, which meant he probably hadn't slept with her), but she was damn good. He liked her. It put him in a better mood.

Baby O'Bombshell smiled at him prettily.

_Hell yeah_.

"Sho-chan," said a girl at his feet, the one in the green onesie comprised of hotpants and boob cups and little else, "try thisssssss." She passed him a cigarette. He took a hit. _Whoa. Not a cigarette_.

"Sho-sama," said another girl at his feet (Eyes so blue he didn't even notice anything else. Except her boobs. Her boobs were pretty nice, too). She smiled at him and suddenly he had a thin fluorescent yellow tube in his hand next to the not-cigarette. In the tube was liquid. He looked at Blue-Eyes-and-Nice-Boobs. She was sipping from a similar tube, red-colored. Smiling at him.

"Thanks Kimiko." He knocked the tube back.

"I'm Katie."

"That explains your accent." He gave her his empty tube. She was still smiling.

He sucked on the not-cigarette again.

Muffin-in-the-Pink-and-Gold-Lamé whined again into his right ear. "Shouuuuuuuuuu."

He gave the not-cigarette back to HotPants at his feet.

"The hell is that, Fuuka?"

"Good, right? And I'm Natsuko."

"Sure you are. Sure it is. Right, sure."

Cakie on his right whined and wiggled. "Shouuuuuu!"

"What?" he spat.

"I wanted it!"

"Whatever, Brownie."

"I'm Melodie!"

"Whatever!"

"Sho."

"Baby."

"C'mere." Gorgeous McBabyFace got up, pulling on his belt loop.

"Where we going, Baby?"

"Where are you taking Sho-sama?" said Amy-with-the-Accent-and-the-Boobs-and-Blue-Eyes.

"Shouu-chan. You want some more?" Suzuka-in-the-Hot-Pants reached the cigarette-thing up at him. He eyed it. Then it was in his hand then his mouth then his lungs and the pillars in the club started kind of bending. Sho vaguely hoped that they were decorative. He didn't want any damn roofs falling on him because people couldn't keep their damn pillars straight.

"Sho-sama, you're so best. Stay here, ok? You're soooooo more sexier. Come here, ok? Come down here, yeah?" Accent-and-Boobs' accent was getting thicker. Was her fluorescent tube-thingy changing color? He was pretty sure it wasn't blue earlier. Maybe.

"Sho-channnnnn."

"Sho." Baby was tugging harder.

"Yeah, I'm so best," he said to Accent-and-Blue-Eyes. He laughed. Her accent was kinda sexy. "I'm so best!" he yelled.

"Sooooo best."

Sho gulped. "Kitten?" Accent, blue eyes, nice boobs, _cat ears_? Were those new?

"Meow?" She crawled toward him.

"Sho-chan!" The cigarette-thing was in his hand, away from his mouth, and Toshiko-Hot-Pants was trying to get it away from his fingers. He took another drag on it. She looked upset. Toshiko was her name, right?

Parfait-in-the-Pink-and-Gold-Lamé had been whining for a while. She tugged his hand away from Eriko-in-the-Hot-Pants, who now had his cigarette-thing in her mouth, who was dragging him through a funnel toward her green tits. _Holy…! Is she a Martian? So hot. _"Shouuuuuu! Let's go somewhere else, Shouuuuu!"

Baby leaned down, put her amazing rack right under his chin, put her mouth on his jaw line.

"Sho," she growled against his stubble.

Sho grinned. Baby was _mad_. He got up. Gravity stopped coming from the floor and instead started coming from Baby, so he leaned on her.

"I'm coming, Baby."

"Sho-chan, where are you going?"

"Sho-shama? Meow?"

Strawberry Tart pouted.

"Where are you taking Sho-chan?"

Lucy-with-the-Boobs-and-Accent said something in English. Sho tried to catch it, but the sounds turned into colors and then into drumbeats and he couldn't figure it out. It sounded hot, though.

Baby took Sho to the bathroom for a while, where there was a lot of tongue action but very little dialogue.

When they came back, HotPants and Boobs-and-Accent were gone. Pink-Lamé-Pastry was still pouting on his chair. Sho sat down next to Pastry. Baby settled on his lap. Sho felt pretty good. Pretty awesome, actually. Like he'd been licked down the middle with a chocolate tongue. _Hey, that's a great lyric_.

"I feel like I've been licked down the middle with a chocolate tongue," he said.

"What?" said Cupcake.

"Totally," said Baby.

"Yeah," said Sho.

"Huh?" said Candy.

"Chocolate," said Baby into his adam's apple.

"Hell yeah."

Suddenly there was another girl in his hands, not Baby or Gumdrop, and there were other girls at his feet. One of them was made of flowers. That was hot.

"Shouuuuu, what the hell's a chocolate tongue?"

Sho squeezed the girl in his hand. _Very nice_.

"Shouuuuu!"

There was a girl on the floor staring up at him with kaleidoscope eyes. She looked like a Japanese Naomi Campbell.

"Honey, you look like a Japanese Naomi Campbell."

She climbed up his knees. "You look like Fuwa Sho."

"Naomi, baby, I _am_ Fuwa Sho!"

"Lucky me."

"Shouuuuu, let's GO!" Meringue was standing and tugging at him.

"Dammit, shut the hell up Kyoko!" He shouted much louder than he knew. People in other parts of the club, people who hadn't been paying attention to him, people who were sexy enough that they had their own little harems to pay attention to, looked over at him. "Get out of here, god dammit Kyoko!" He shouted again, louder.

Kyoko pouted, her hair long and black, her eyes wide like when she was about to cry, her little apron so demure about her waist.

"My name is Melodie," she said.


	4. Two Princes

**A/N:** Hey everybody! I am not dead! Just... yeah. Real life has this way of imposing itself on one's fic life in the unhappiest of manners. Aaaaanyway. Here's my latest. This is, essentially, **crack**. It's based on **Two Princes by Spin Doctors** (if you're not familiar, please watch: www (dot) youtube (dot) com (backslash) watch?v=d43U0OeWg3Q). Characters include but are _not limited to_: **Ren, Kyoko and Sho**. Wordcount is around 1,200. Rating is G. No spoilers. R&R is lovelovelove!

* * *

_One, two princes kneel before you  
That's what I said now  
Princes, princes who adore you  
Just go ahead now  
One has diamonds in his pockets  
That's some bread, now  
This one said he wants to buy you rockets  
Ain't in his head, now_

_This one he got a princely racket  
That's what I said now  
Got some Big Seal upon his jacket  
Ain't in his head now  
You marry him, your father will condone you  
How 'bout that now  
You marry me, your father will disown you  
He'll eat his hat, now_

The dream went like this:

_-ENTER DREAM-_

Kyoko sits, becrowned, begowned and bethroned, in the middle of a small clearing in an enchanted forest. There are faeries. Her dress is something straight out of an animated Disney movie from the 90's – stiff puffed sleeves, a hint of lace around the edges, a large red stone at the breast. Her crown is modest – more a circlet, really – but with small jewels embedded all around that match her (suddenly) iridescent dress. She is surrounded by sweet-singing birds and an aura of benevolent wisdom.

At her feet kneel a shiny-armored Tsuruga Ren, and a velvet-covered Fuwa Sho. She surveys them, and each raises his head to her with a characteristic expression. Ren shines at her with _the face_. The one that saved him with he was learning to play Katsuki but gets him in trouble with his manager. Sho gives her an indulgent grin of the type he usually reserves for his own reflection.

Ren rises with masculine grace. His armor tinkles (masculinely) to the ground, revealing a noble Victorian suit complete with cummerbund, ascot and coattails. He produces from his waist pocket a diamond the size of a golf ball.

"For your crown, Princess Kyoko." He extends it to her, bowing, but without lowering his eyes. "Of course, the diamond for your ring will have to be slightly smaller." He smiles, and the trees swoon.

Sho rocks back off his heel, then stands with all weight on the one side, hand on hip. His free hand dips beneath his heavy red-and-lion cape, then resurfaces with a small remote.

"Let's rock the world, Princess." He presses the invitingly large button on the remote and suddenly an array of rockets explodes heavenward from behind the trees, bursting into fireworks whose forms depict the kanji "Kyoko-sama" amid hearts, flowers, stars, and electric guitars.

The tree branches scratch together in what sounds like applause.

Kyoko Hime-sama confers with a few faeries.

Wild Prince Sho grows impatient – his face is _completely_ transparent – but Knightly Prince Ren has already changed into white shorts and a sweater vest and is lobbing a birdie at him from across a badminton net. Sweat sparkles like so many tiny Colgate commercials off his sincere, sportsmanlike face. Kyoko oohs. Sho passionately wails the birdie straight out of the clearing with an oversized tennis racket. Kyoko ahhs.

"Fuwa," intones Ren, who is suddenly again wearing the cummerbund get-up, "and what would happen if the plastic birdie you violently sent flying into the woods were to collide with one of the sweet feathered birds flitting innocently about the trees? How would you take responsibility?" His eyes flash. The birds surrounding Kyoko move to twitter enthusiastically behind him. Kyoko seems on the verge of hysterics, although whether from the thought of a helpless chickadee suffering injury or as a result of Princely Prince Ren's inimitable nobility, it's hard to tell.

Sho scoffs. "What the hell, like that birdie's really gonna hurt anything! It'll get caught in the tree branches anyway. You think the trees here are so weak they can't even stop a dumb plastic _birdie_? You obviously don't have enough things to worry about, pretty boy!" The trees behind Sho look slightly more staunch than other trees. Kyoko clasps her hands beneath her chin and glitters her eyes at him.

_Women love that kind of machismo, after all_, whispers a bodiless voice. Nobody notices it.

There is a rapid clothes-changing sequence in which Ren and Sho stare at each other as their outfits dissolve and resolve about them. Ren cycles through everything article of clothing indicating royalty since the days when men wearing tights were considered manly. Sho's gaudy velvets give way to gaudy visual-kei costumes. Not very princely, but he does keep a (shape-changing) scepter in the hand where the remote had been. Each new ensemble is greeted by a dazzle of light and an appropriate soundbite. For Sho, it's mostly guitar solos. Ren has pretty much the entirety of _La Marseillaise_ filling the ambient space around him.

Kyoko watches like a tennis enthusiast at the final day of Wimbledon.

Finally Ren – back in that cummerbund outfit – falls to a knee and offers imploring eyes to the princess. "Hime-sama," he begins, and the sincerity in his voice is heartbreaking. "Hime-sama, come to me." He extends a hand. Kyoko tentatively lifts her own little hand from her chiffon lap.

Sho, behind him, is wearing that red-velvet-and-lion-trimmed cape from the beginning over a pair of expensively ripped jeans and knee-high, partially laced, shiny leather combat books. "Kyoko," he says. She wavers. "We'll ride rockets to the sky, Kyoko. You really wanna be stuck in one place all your life?"

Ren's hand stretches forward, just the barest smidge forward. "Princess…" he pleads.

Sho's clothes have swapped again, this time for tight red pants, a fitted white t-shirt with a guitar-and-crowns coat of arms emblazoned on the chest, and a bright gold crown atop his head. The scepter's back (it was gone in the last outfit), and it looks vaguely Russian. For some reason there are tiny faeries kissing his hair and tugging on his clothes. Kyoko's eyes slide to him.

"Who needs a boring life at home, Kyoko? Come with me. If it's with me, your life will always be exciting." Kyoko rises a bit from her seat. "I want you to come with me." A fat little bird flaps away as her lap (evidently where it had been roosting) disappears.

Ren closes his eyes, but his hand doesn't move. He whispers her name as she moves past him. His clothes are his own. She pauses but doesn't look.

Light is dawning around Sho – it's impossible to tell what he's wearing anymore – and the guitar solos are back with a vengeance.

Ren's head drops, and with it his hand.

_-END DREAM-_

Yashiro woke up sweating and already bolt upright. His hands scrabbled for his glasses, and once he was wearing them he inspected his night-dark room for traces of faerie dust. Wicked guitar solos echoed in his ears. He realized he was panting and clutched at his chest, as if that would be effective at slowing his breathing.

"A dream…" he sighed, as the images (and guitars) begin to fade. "Just a dream," he said reassuringly. Then repeated himself: "It was just a dream."

_A dream? A __**dream**__? __Ren and Fuwa have a showdown for Kyoko-chan, and she goes to choose Fuwa?_ Unwelcomed, the final image of Ren – defeated and close-eyed – resurfaced from his Yashiro's subconscious.

"NO! A nightmare!" So shouting, he sprung out of bed. The clock by his bedside read neon-green-4:20am.

"Whatever. That's it. I'll go read the entertainment blogs or something. No _way_ am I falling back asleep tonight!"

* * *

Soooooo, whadja think? If you're unfamiliar with La Marseillaise, it's the French national anthem, an instrumental version of which can be experienced here: www (dot) youtube (dot) com (backslash) watch?v=33nyRB4PY14.

Also, does anybody know how to create visual breaks in the body of a text that ffnet's editor won't eat? I can't tell you how many combinations of dashes, asterisks and tildes I went through before I finally settled for "Enter Dream" and "End Dream" as means to delineate the story :(


	5. Monster

**A/N: **Hey folks! Here's installment 5! It's based on **Monster by Super Junior** - they're a Korean (boy) band I happen to enjoy. Because I realize that very few of you, dear readers, are likely to know the song and/or have any idea what it's about, here is a link to the song and an English translation of the lyrics: www (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v=6f-5L-3Wjyg. This piece is another rather dark one, a sort of **secret romance angsty drama** thing that is hopefully not over the top. You'll all have to let me know! Rated **T for themes**, paring is **Ren-Kyoko**. **Spoilers up through chapter 161ish! **Word count is 1,870.

* * *

_How many times do I have to be torn?_  
_I agonize over it and become resentful._  
_Even though I see the inescapable outcome,_  
_I can't give you up_  
_I only want the breathing you_

_Following the skinny shadow,_  
_I steal a glance pretending I'm looking in the mirror_  
_This image is becoming ridiculous_  
_Maybe I should give up_  
_How many times have I had this worry?_

_Just like that! Don't get caught, I'm dangerous_  
_Just like that! More than a starved beast_  
_Just like that! Oh, I'm merely a hopeless, thirsty, anxious blind, fool_  
_I don't even know when it started_  
_Just like that! I was captured_  
_Just like that! Don't misunderstand_  
_When I see you I'm merely a hopeless, thirsty, anxious, blind fool_

Because he isn't allowed to look at her, he looks for reflective surfaces. The dull shine of elevator doors. Flashes off of polished floors. Bright, unidirectional light – even that will work. For the shadow. Mirrors are a poison-tipped blade, revealing too much, too clearly, too common in their line of work.

If she notices his stares, it'll be even worse than if others do. His career could handle an infatuation with a youngish costar. The youngish costar, however.

If only she were ever his costar. Mio didn't count – she wasn't the star. Setsuka was even less likely to be billed than he was. _Only in my sky is she brightest twinkle_, he thinks sometimes, and then cuffs himself for being sappy. And weak.

Presently, there are no reflections to save him. He's lost. It's dark. The dark is an enemy, tried and true. What can't be seen is tantalizing; what can be done is verboten.

She should know this. She's a woman. Women are supposed to know their weapons as well as their weaknesses. She's oblivious. Obviously. He tries to make himself angry with her.

"Tsuruga-san, do you think the breaker room would be this far away? I hope we haven't passed it."

They're on site for Actor X's movie. Appropriately, the locale is grungy. Ren has been to places like this before, but not since he came to Japan. Not since he started working. It's feeding into his character. Strike that. It's feeding into _him_, feeding the beast he fears(knows) he harbors (to each man his own demons). Feeding his inability to distinguish between himselves.

Surrounding the building is nothing but miles of arable land gone to seed. (Immediately upon arrival Kyoko commenced chiding the landowners. "What a waste! This land could be growing rice or fruit trees or anything!" The landowner wasn't around to hear, of course.) The building itself was a factory at one point. Now it's an iron skeleton. There is rust everywhere, and deceitful staircases. At least Kyoko is cautious. Ren doesn't care to imagine the heart attack he'd have if she started testing the anemic steps with her own weight.

It's difficult to tell what the factory was meant to produce. Or process. In the body of the building, there are conveyor belts and enormous vats and little dumbwaiter-type pulley systems scattered among the scaffolding. Long, spider-sprawling corridors connect large rooms to larger rooms, and are lined themselves with little locked-door rooms like cilia. Here, in the unlit corridors, Ren flashes a cigarette lighter under door signs written in Japanese and Roman characters. Rambling, foreign words in familiar, childhood letters. Not English. German. German signs in an abandoned Japanese factory. It is intriguing, and perhaps a clue to the motives of the landowner for leaving his property like this. _An old WWII German sympathizer, maybe?_ Ren pushes his thoughts toward the question. Walking ahead of him, Kyoko is wearing Setsuka's clothes, flickering at him from the other side of his lighter flame.

All the actors were scheduled to arrive on-site on different days – Ren and Kyoko, first. Ren isn't sure, but he thinks it was deliberate. Perhaps the director's worried that Cain Heel will need more time to settle into the new environment than others. Perhaps the order means nothing and he simply wants each actor to get his own, individual feel for the setting. Or maybe it's just another means of isolating them from each other and their reputations – all the actors are supposed to by anonymous, after all. Whatever the director's reasons, Ren has his own for appreciating the head start.

He and Kyoko arrived in mid afternoon and were immediately roped into helping make the place workable. _Roped into_, he thinks with a black-coffee hint of bitterness. Kyoko had enthusiastically volunteered to help – "I'd like to make myself useful in any way I can!" (evidently she wanted to prove her own character to the director before slipping under Setsuka for the duration of filming) – and Ren followed as helplessly as a St Bernard leashed to a 6-year-old girl.

The director had explained, before sending them off on their current mission, that they were running a skeleton crew of assistants. To aid the ambience. Stars could expect to mostly take of themselves, and if something around the set looked dangerous, it probably was. "What I'm going for with this film is something gritty and real. Living and working in an unpolished environment like this is going to be essential for you actors to give me what I want." Kyoko had looked ill at ease. Ren felt skeptical but knew he didn't look it. The director laughed off their unstated concerns. "Think of it like being a runaway! It's exciting!"

Then he said, "By the way, some of the lights in that wing over there" – he gestured vaguely – "don't seem to be working. Actually, all of the lights. We tried replacing a few light bulbs, but… The gaffer thinks maybe there's a circuit blown somewhere, but he hasn't had time to go looking for the breaker room yet." Here he eyed Kyoko significantly; she had already expressed her ardent willingness to help. "I can't really send a young girl into the dark alone, but… well, that wing _is_ where you'll be staying."

"Don't worry! I've had to throw circuits before, and I'm not afraid of the dark!"

Ren had turned on his heel and started walking toward a randomly chosen corridor before he indicated to her what he meant. It was typical that she didn't figure it out. It would _kill _her to expect help. "We'll start looking in this direction," he said, and Kyoko tittered enthusiastically at the director before catching up with him.

_I was an idiot for not thinking to ask for a flashlight_, he grumbles internally. Cain isn't the best planner; Ren decides to use this as his excuse. The slight curves of Kyoko's body – the shallow ellipsis of hips, the long sine of legs – are grotesquely contorted in the flamelight. His curiosity is inspired. What is she really shaped like? It is an effort to keep his eyes elsewhere. _I didn't used to be this aware of her. Damn tiny little clothes. Damn one-track mind_.

"Tsuruga-san?" Kyoko pauses, right hand on the wall, left hand holding another lighter (Setsuka carries a spare for Cain), and looks over her shoulder. Caught between two lighters, wearing slick black pants and many layers of netting, she is a specter mixed with a shadow.

_Yes._ "Yes?"

"The breaker room. Do you think we've gone too far? Maybe we should try another area."

Ren answers logically, stupidly, indulgently: "We should follow this corridor to the end, otherwise it'll have been pointless to come this far. Are you making sure to check the handles on doors with no signs?"

"I suppose you're right, Tsuruga-san. Yes, I'm remembering." She resumes her slow pace, trailing her fingers along the wall.

Of course he's right. Of course, he's also a fool. The longer they wander in the dark, the more likely they are to spring a trap. The more likely he is to spring one on her. Or vice versa. Depending on how you want to look at it. He slows, to get out of arm's reach. It's difficult. Her little strides are cramping him.

Another minute or so passes walking in dark near-silence. Her heel clicks echo, but his old boots barely pad like bear paws. Ren gives up and watches her intently. He feels like he's stalking her.

With his left hand on the wall, he fingers stay alerts for doorjambs and signs. For anything helpful or dangerous. But his eyes keep close to her. _Whatever. It's dark. She won't notice_.

Then, "Ah! The breaker room!"

"You found it?"

"Yes, yes!" She tries the handle. "The door is locked, but" she wiggles the door in its frame, "it's not very tight. Tsuruga-san, do you think you could –"

He's got a heavy shoulder to the door before she can finish her suggestion. Before she fully registers the clap of his lighter closing.

"Eep!" She drops the lighter she'd been holding and all light disappears. Ren brings one more shoulder thrust to bear upon the door and the hinges give. He can hear Kyoko cringing next to him. The clattering sounds much more dangerous than it would have if the lights were on. Ren remembers from the first time he broke into a darkened building. Every last sound sets your nerves on edge. Even the sounds you make yourself. He sighs. Funny, how some things stay with you like that.

In the dark, Kyoko blunders a hand toward where the door had been. To see where it went, if it's really not there.

It isn't.

She loses her balance, having expected to come into contact with _something_, and begins to fall. Together in the space of the door, they're close enough that Ren can feel her movements as clearly as he can hear them. She's to the left of him, but he reaches his right arm across her trajectory. The doorframe isn't even the third of his wingspan. It isn't difficult to catch her. She crashes against his forearm and he brings her into his torso. To steady her. Her small hands clutch at his bicep, her shoulder crushes against his abdomen, her head makes contact with his pectorals before righting itself again.

A number of things pass through Ren's mind, and he is completely helpless against the forces which wrap his arm around her waist, across her entire body, bringing his hand to rest upon her hip.

_She feels delicious, like an éclair. She's a fool. She's a child. It would not be comfortable to make love in here. __**NO!**_

His grip relaxes, and he says to her "Be careful," but even in his own ears it sounds like a threat. Like a predator's growl. She stiffens, panics, tries to step away.

But she steps on her heel wrong and stumbles again, against him again.

_This is becoming ridiculous_, he thinks. He can imagine what they look like. He knows what kind of face he's making, at any rate. But he can't entirely help himself. He squeezes her hard, taking her weight off her feet and leaning it on himself. He brings his face close to hers and, guessing at where her ear is, he whispers, "Didn't I just tell you to be careful?" He releases her before she can panic, flips open his lighter, enters the breaker room.

A moment later, Kyoko follows him in, her lighter back in her hands. He notices that the flame is shaking. They search out the switches and throw them all. New electricity scatters among old bulbs. Some blow in the corridor, but others hold, and when they return to their starting point they can see bright lights coming from the rooming wing.

In the clear light, Ren is again restricted to reflections and shadows, but he steals a glance at her face, pilfering it from a small mirror they pass. He's given her warnings before, but now he can see it: the set of her brow, the color of her cheeks. She got the point this time.


	6. Welcome

**A/N: **Hey everybody! It's been a while, but this time I have two chapters right in a row. They go together, so please treat them more as a short series than individual one-shots. I didn't deliberately gank this idea from secludedsapphire, but I will thank her for her example, which gave me the courage to go through with it :) This is only the second time I've written a story that pushed past the boundaries of a one-shot; it makes me nervous. Anyway, this is basically a **romance/drama** piece focusing on **RenxKyoko**. Not quite fluff, but getting there... There are **vague spoilers** for the **Dark Moon arc**, rating is **G** and the wordcount is around 2,800. Finally, it's based on **Welcome by Denali**, which can be youtubed here: /watch?v=ShjRszANjvQ. Enjoy, and remember... Reviews are love!

* * *

_A watchful eye can see right in_  
_Will it be innocence or just a daydream that dies?_  
_How did you get so close to being in here?_  
_Did I invite you in?_

"Moooooko-san! Moko-san Moko-san Moko-san~!" Kyoko bounced up to her dearest darling Kotonami Kanae, who was looking typically underenthused by Kyoko's greeting.

"What?" she asked shortly.

"Guess what guess what guess what?" Kyoko bounced in place in front of Kanae.

Kanae leveled a look at her, the kind of look that was historically effective at getting loud children to shut up. _Didn't I just ask "What"?_

"I have BIG NEWS!" Kyoko continued to bounce, now a little more quickly, and her voice rose into the canary range.

"Congratulations." Kanae gave up, turned on her heel, and began to walk away.

Kyoko flung herself on Kanae's arm, falling dramatically into a 45o angle against the floor. "But Moko-san! You have to _hear_ the news!"

Kanae, knowing with the clarity of old experience that Kyoko would allow herself to be literally dragged along the floor rather than let go of her own volition, stopped. And huffed. "Mou, get _off_ of me!" She shoved Kyoko back upright, indecorously. When she didn't try to walk away again, Kyoko resumed bouncing.

Kanae sighed and placed a pinching pair of fingers on the bridge of her nose. "What, you have news? Of course you have news. I understand that you have news. But do you have to get so excited about it in the _middle of the lobby_?" She gestured widely at the LME Studios lobby, wherein the evening dash home had slowed to a shuffle to watch the bouncing, pink coveralled performance in which Kanae was the unwilling supporting character.

Kyoko glanced around her, and a light dawned on her face as if she had _only just_ realized that she might be attracting attention. "Eh? Eh? Ehhh?" She blushed and put a hand to the back of her head. Addressing herself to the room at large, she cheerfully apologized. "Sorry everyone! Sorry! Please get home safely! Thank you for your work today!" She bowed in various directions, and as she did so the dash resumed, albeit with noticeably improved humor.

Kanae glared at her as she waved politely at passersby. (The passersby, invariably, waved back, smiling.)

Kyoko wised up to her friend's displeasure with a start, wavering along the spine like a straight wooden fence post when bumped. "Moko-san? What's the matter?"

Kanae ground her teeth audibly. "The news?" she reminded.

"OH! Yes, yes, I have fabulous news!" Again with the bouncing. "We've been assigned a new job! A Love-Me job! Both of us! Together! On the same job!" Her eyes grew larger with each exclamation point, so that by the time she finished she was like a cartoon puppy: great shiny eyes and far, far too much excitement.

Kanae was exhausted. She just didn't have it in her right now. She just didn't have it. "How the hell is that good news?" _Since when did we __**want**__ Love-Me jobs? Isn't the entire point to get __**out**__ of Love-Me by finding __**other**__ jobs?_

Kyoko didn't pout, which was rare, but a relief. "But Moooooko-san! This means we get to work _together!_"

Ah. That was it. The excitement point. Ridiculous, but at least a bit more predictable. Kanae lost the will to glare at Kyoko, so consigned herself to sighs and the occasional withering glance. Not that Kyoko ever withered. Instead she explained in detail the nature of the assignment as they walked together back to the Love-Me Members' Room.

They were going to be temporary cast members on a well-known variety show. The show was running a short contest among the young pop idol set, and the two Love-Me girls were essentially the team anchors. The composition of the teams would change from show to show, so in order to maintain any semblance of cogency the producers wanted one consistent non-competitor on each team to keep it together. One not-terribly-frequently-employed semi-star. The job had "Love Me" written all over it. Which was probably why Kanae was so powerfully displeased with the idea. (Kyoko herself wasn't a fan of the type-casting – Kanae was playing a stereotypical beautiful-but-cold girl, all tsun-tsun no dere-dere; Kyoko was a goth-girl villain character. She didn't mention her own displeasure, though.)

When Kanae huffed out of the Love Me Members' Room ("Mou, whatever! If that monster president has decided on this then there's no way we can get out of it, but at least try not to be so excited! It's disgusting!"), Kyoko was left half changed out of her Love-Me uniform, alone for the first time that day. She smiled fondly at the closed door, but the rest of her preparations were done with a face void of expression. She discussed her to-do list with herself, quietly, in the low sort of voice people use when they're trying not to wake sleeping children. Or when they're trying to distract themselves.

It was a quarter to nine when Kyoko finally stepped off the elevator on her exit floor. She glanced at her watch and complained softly about not having time to make dinner, rapped her fingers on the side of her bag, and didn't even notice Tsuruga Ren until he stepped directly into her path.

"Tsu-tsu-tsuruga-san!"

"Good evening," he smiled politely.

"Good evening! Are you on your way home as well, or do you have another job tonight?"

"No, I'm finished with work for the evening."

"Is that so? Then I hope you've eaten dinner already. It's very late, you know. It's not healthy to eat so shortly before going to bed. Ah! But I suppose eating late is better than not eating at all, so if you haven't had dinner yet you should still hurry home and –"

"Mogami-san."

"Yes?"

"What's the matter?"

She stopped short, and realized with a sort of retroactive anxiety that they were halfway down the flight of stairs leading to the parking garage. She had not been heading to the parking garage. He had been guiding her; she remembered his hand on her shoulder, her side, the small of her back. Little touches, like the light pressure a skilled equestrian would use to direct his closest horse. She hadn't noticed. She had been entirely preoccupied with…

What?

"Whatever do you mean, Tsuruga-san? Nothing's the matter." She continued down the stairs. She felt desperation in the pit of her stomach, felt trapped, or like she was running into one. Felt the muscles in her face tense about the smile she had folded them into.

Ah. That.

She had been entirely preoccupied with trying to keep him from noticing that something was wrong.

Ren followed her silently to the bottom of the stairs but captured her by the elbow once they reached the landing.

She flinched.

Ren dropped his hand, but not his gaze. "Your performance this evening was well-thought-out," he told her, and she opened her mouth to protest (or question or deny or _anything_), but he kept on talking. "Kotonami-san would likely have been worried if she could see your true face, and you had no confidence in your ability to maintain your stage smile in front of her, so you made a scene big enough to cover it all up. Well done. That's the way an actor thinks."

She tried to be happy with the praise, but for some reason all she could hear was a threat. It was like his voice had been replaced with the theme song to Jaws. She cowered. Ren remained unmoved.

_Not this time. I'm not letting her fear scare me away this time_.

"I… I don't…"

"Is it about the photo shoot from this morning?"

Kyoko felt something akin to lightning shoot through her. If she had been asked to characterize it as fear, or pain, or nerves, or even relief, she would have been unable. It was a jolt, simple and strong.

"You're still upset about the photo shoot, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

Kyoko found a voice. It was an irritating voice, the sound of teenage rebellion, but it was better than silence. She turned her nose up. "I didn't complain at the time, did I? I don't think you have any right to accuse me of being upset. And to say something ridiculous like I deceived my best friend in order to hide being upset? That's just rude." She tried to turn away but his hand was on her elbow again.

"You are a talented actress, Mogami-san, but you are a poor liar."

This time, the compliment reverberated, overtaking even the nerves from the confrontation, and the ill feeling in her gut that had been sitting stone-like in her since this morning, just like he said, because of course he was completely and utterly right. _A talented actress_. _He said I was a talented actress_. _Did he really say that? A talented actress. Has anybody ever called me a talented actress. Does he really think I'm a talented actress? A talented actress…_

She turned her eyes up to him. Lost. In two senses of the word.

His grip on her elbow tightened.

"You hated to be portrayed that way, didn't you?"

"It wasn't me being portrayed…"

"You hated your Mio being portrayed that way."

She flinched and looked away. This morning there had been a wrap-up photo shoot for Dark Moon. The series had been huge. It broke rating records. The fact that the major cast members had been called together for one final bonus photo shoot was testimony to its popularity. Essentially, it was extra fanservice – their public was clamoring for them. All of them. Including Mio.

Their photographer (Director Ogata had nothing to do with the shoot; for some reason, this was comforting to Kyoko) was famous, edgy, an unabashed crowd-pleaser, and notoriously uncompromising. When he announced that they would be photographing fan-favorite pairings that were not a part of the show, there was nothing the cast could do but get excited about it. Even Kyoko – she was excited. Naïvely so, believing that nobody would want to see _her_ in any pairings. And indeed, there was only one character that anybody wanted to see Mio with (the other cast members found themselves in suggestive poses with pretty much every character in the show – regardless of the sex of either). Only one man that everyone (_everyone_, her castmates corroborated, after a quick internet search) wanted to see her with. Katsuki.

"I don't think it was wrong to show Mio like that," she said quietly.

At the time, Kyoko had been vehemently opposed. Mio wasn't a trollop, and Katsuki couldn't possibly be interested her. It didn't make any sense. But she didn't want to make a scene, so she was _quietly_ vehement, while the entire cast began to board the bandwagon. She didn't think she had made her emotions known to anyone. She was sure that the Momose-san and Oohara-san, at least, hadn't sensed her discomfort. She didn't want to make them uncomfortable, after all.

A few people had teased Ren about it (he was the only actor who got paired up with _everyone_), until he said: "It's certainly an odd pairing, but I think, if you don't pay attention to the circumstances, the two could have very interesting chemistry." Kyoko had taken that like a slap in the face – _There's no way Tsuruga-san wants to have to act this way with me, either_ – and started to think of it the same way. By the time they got around to their pairing shoot, she was thoroughly in character, and prepared to take that character as far as Katsuki would go (she couldn't think of him as "Tsuruga-san;" if she was going to pull this off, it was Mio with Katsuki).

"So it was just acting that way with me, then. That had you so upset." Ren's voice sounded hard, and it pulled her eyes back up to his face. His face wasn't hard, though. His face was fragile, hiding something.

Ren, naturally, hadn't shown even an iota of restraint with his character. Kyoko had been counting on him to keep their characters' chemistry in check. In hindsight, this was a bad choice. _After all, Tsuruga-san is the kind of actor who stays in character even when he's half unconscious with a fever. Having to act interested in a no-sex-appeal girl like m–Mio wouldn't faze him_. As it turned out, Mio-who-is-in-love-with-Katsuki was voracious, but Katsuki-who-is-in-love-with-Mio was more than a match for her. Their shoot was far and away the most intense of the morning. The entire studio had watched, hushed, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. They felt they were walking in on something intimate, but they couldn't drag themselves away.

Kyoko's body burned when she thought of the ways she had touched him. The hunger, and the greed; the feeling of his spine against her thigh and his hair between her knuckles. When she thought of how _he_ had touched _her_, she felt sick and tingly, like vertigo all over, so she didn't think about it. But his hand was on her elbow, his long fingers caging her, his thumb nestled into the crook, pointing up, up, up her bicep to the soft junction of shoulder and torso, and she fought desperately against a faceless memory of lips and fingertips drawing imperial Roman maps which all led to that single point.

She tried to pull her arm away, but he wouldn't give.

"I wasn't… you can't say I was upset. What did I do that made you…? I played my role –"

"Your body language, Mogami-san. Before our shoot, and after it, and every other time I've seen you today. You hated it, didn't you?" _You hate me for it, don't you?_

"Nobody said anything about my–"

"I'm the only one who noticed." Kyoko looked up at him again. His eyes were intense. She had the uneasy impression that the fragile thing covering his face before had given way, and she was looking at the expression he had been hiding. He looked like he was walking into a fistfight he knew he'd lose. "Only me. You didn't bother anyone, Mogami-san."

_How could he tell? What did I do? What body language? Was I awkward? Did I act poorly? No, no, he said nobody else noticed. How could he tell? How did he know?_ Such things crowded around her mind like bingo balls, but the question that finally popped out was: "Including you?" His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Did I bother you, Tsuruga-san?" His grip on her elbow shifted, less like a cuff and more like a muffler. She glanced down and away, then back up at him, alternating as she spoke. "I know I'm not an easy person to act such scenes with. I'm sure you had a more enjoyable time with Momose-san."

"You're wrong," he said, too loudly. Internally, _shut up. _"The only thing that bothered me was the thought that I had upset you." _Shut up._ "Nothing else was difficult." _Shut up! _"In fact, you were the easiest to…" _NO, STOP IT, SHUT UP _" – gulp – to stay in character with."

She stared at him.

_Oh no. _"I knew you would hate the idea as soon as I heard it, even before today. The moment the photographer mentioned it your posture immediately went 100% Japanese-inn-okami-san. You stopped chatting. Your smile stopped lighting up the room. I could tell." _Oh no, oh no, oh no._

Kyoko was not so dense that she didn't notice when a man demonstrated feelings toward her. Most of the time she discounted it as being completely impossible, and some of the time, when pressed, she deliberately ignored it. But she wasn't so dense that she missed it altogether. This was one of those times when what she really wanted to do was ignore it. His hand around her elbow, his gaze, his worries, his understanding of her, the way he read her nuances, the memory of his heat on her skin. If somebody were to spell out the letters i-a-m-i-n-l-o-v-e-w-i-t-h-y-o-u, she would know what had been intended. But she might feign idiocy in order to run away.

"Did you really hate it that much?" he asked her. It was the second time he had asked her such a question. The first time she hadn't answered. This time, though, there was a long pause, but then, finally, she opened her mouth to respond.

* * *

**_To Be Continued..._**


	7. I Wasn't Prepared

Aaaaand here's the second part. Finally, I have done it... this is the long-awaited (by me, at any rate) **RenXKyoko fluff!** I did my best, but fluff is so hard to write for this pairing (for me), so I worry about the believability. Please let me know how I did! Concrit is love :) At any rate, rating is **G**, word count is around 1,660, there are **no real spoilers**, and it's based on **I Wasn't Prepared by Eisley**, which can be youtubed here: /watch?v=7z5mPOqyTlo.

* * *

_When the morning came the bees flew down and wrapped themselves around me_  
_And that's when I spoke a word to have them trace your face for me in pollen_  
_But I wasn't prepared for this, no, no I wasn't prepared for this, no, no_  
_Come come back to me my my darling_

Kyoko withdrew her fingertips from the little stream and lay back on its bank. It was too early in the year for cicadas, so instead she was listening to frogs and birds. And the ripple-music of the stream. She closed her eyes against the sun and devoted all her attention to her senses of touch and hearing. It was almost heaven. Almost.

A bee buzzed up to a small flower near her hand. She turned her head to him and cracked an eye open.

"Hello there."

Buzz.

"Thank you for your hard work!"

Buzz.

"You look like your really love your job!"

Buzz.

"I love my job too."

Buzzzzzzz.

"Say…"

Buzz buzz.

"How would you like to do something for me?"

Buzz.

"I'll bring you some really tasty flowers! Something you've never had before."

Buzzzz buzz buzzzzzz.

"See, there's something I'd really like to see. I was wondering if you and your friends could draw it for me. You know, in pollen."

Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz.

"Waaah, there are so many of you! You're all so kind!"

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

"Actually" – blush – "there's this face I'd like to see." _A face with beautiful, intense eyes, and dark hair, and an angelic smile_. "Ara, you know which one?"

Buzz.

"Ahhh, you're all so lovely to treat me so well!"

Buzz buzzzz.

"It's selfish, but I just want to see that face more than anything. I..." here she laughed at herself a little, "I can't properly enjoy this lovely little wood of yours, honestly. I just want to see that face." She smiled a self deprecating smile, because it was true. The day was beautiful, the place was beautiful, the sounds and scents were beautiful. But she had a hollowness in her middle, like her stuffing had been taken. It had been almost a week since she had enjoyed anything at all. She was surprised at herself, and more than a little disappointed.

"Not only is it selfish, it's weak," she said very, very quietly.

Kyoko had always believed that he cared for her more than she did for him. It was her safety valve. She had sworn once that she would never fall in love again, and though now there were enough years between herself and the silly girl who had made such a vow that she could see how foolish it was, she was still wary. She never wanted to lose herself in a man again. She never wanted to be able to say "As long as he's happy, I don't need anything."

"Because, when you feel like that, you can't even really say you're in love. You're just in love with the idea of love." She had sat up and was drawing transient circles in the water. "You're supposed to _want_ somebody you're in love with, after all." She dipped her toes in. "You want to be with him so much that even if he's gone for a week, you get lonely and jealous." She worked her fingers between her toes for a while, listening to the bees buzz away at her portrait. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. "I think."

That night, at the bottom of the stairs that led to the parking garage, when he had offered his ego for her to walk on, she had recovered something essential. She was terrified by him – his insight, and his body. For some reason she had picked that moment to recognize for the first time exactly how _big_ he was. He could have picked her up and crushed her in those arms. But instead he was holding just her elbow, carefully, carefully, like _he _knew, had known all along that he might break her if he didn't pay attention. Like he had been worrying about it for a long time.

But his insight. Even by that time she had developed enough confidence in her acting abilities that she was pretty sure she could get through any sticky situation without blowing it up. (Except if Shotaro or the Beagle were around – she couldn't help it if they set her off like a firecracker. It would be awhile longer before she could confront either of them levelly.) Still, he had read her like a script, as if her face were comprised of black characters on white paper, simple dialogue-and-direction. He could always tell when she wasn't herself.

Kyoko smiled softly and thought of asking the bees about their progress, but didn't. She was a little bit scared of turning around and not seeing even a pollen-sketch of him.

That night, she had wanted to run. His intensity was too much for her. She didn't want his affection. She wanted him to be her untouchable senpai forever. She couldn't handle his needs.

But he had been so vulnerable, with her in his headlights. As if he were the one with immovable hands wrapped around him, or the 12 inch height advantage. And suddenly, she couldn't bear the thought of hurting him. A single image of her own little hand being flung back to her side by an elbow so high that it didn't even graze her head flashed through her mind. At that moment, she could not reject him.

"Did you hate it that much?" he had asked, but his question was, _Did you hate being touched by me so much that you couldn't even live with yourself, to the extent that you had to put on a character just to get through the day?_

Her answer could not possibly be yes. And, like water turning to wine, suddenly it was not. "Hate isn't the word I would pick," she had said, although it _was _the word she would have picked even five minutes earlier. "I was nervous and awkward." She had looked directly at him while speaking. "I enjoyed playing the character, although I was definitely scared." Not a kind answer, but an honest one. And she had learned long ago never to lie to him.

He had taken a deep breath, then smiled at her and released her arm. Her heart had been pounding a mile a millisecond, because it was _that _smile, the excruciatingly soft one that threatened to sublimate the arctic ice around her heart. Not even melt – just, turn all her defenses to vapor that would float away. Except, that night, her defenses were already in a state that wouldn't even have stopped a snowball, and the light coming off him heated her face until she thought it was burning. He had offered to drive her home. She remembered keeping her cheek pressed against the cool window during the entire ride.

"That was the night," Kyoko whispered to the stream, "that I decided I loved his smile."

She stood up suddenly, like a child who has just remembered a terribly important berry bush on the other side of the field.

"But! He'll only be gone three more days, so I shouldn't be moping. It's for work, so obviously I can't complain, just because I happen to not be drowning in work myself this time. It's not like this is the first time location shoots have kept us apart. Right, right! I'm not some lovesick teenager. I can handle my boyfriend being gone for a week or so."

She nodded defiantly at nothing in particular. But the defiance quickly lost to a hot blush. Thinking about him for so long had brought her back to thoughts of the day before he left. Or, more specifically, the night. He had made love to her like he needed the memory of it to last him for fifty years, rather than a measly eight days. For the next 48 hours (she had kept track), Kyoko had blushed ferociously every time somebody mentioned his name. It was inconvenient, and she was a little annoyed with him for being so... so…

"Never mind, I'm not really annoyed," she whispered, still blushing.

She realized the bees had stopped buzzing. She turned around and almost cried. "Moron, obviously…" there was no pollen painting. She wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes, and tried to remember _exactly_ what it felt like when he held her from behind, _exactly_ where her head fell against his chest. She frowned. "I am not a lovesick teenager," she protested, but still she remembered perfectly. There was a long pause, and then, "I should get back to Tokyo. I could be working," but she didn't move.

There was a rustling, crunching noise, and Kyoko briefly panicked. _What if somebody finds me here?_ It wasn't exactly like she was doing anything wrong, standing by the secret stream in the woods behind the Fuwa's traditional Japanese inn, her old crying spot. Technically, she supposed, she was trespassing, though there wasn't anybody who would care. But she had no explanation for why she had come here (in a hurry – by bullet train that very morning; hadn't told anybody but her own manager; hadn't even told Moko-san; definitely hadn't told the Fuwas). At least, she had no explanation she wished to offer anyone.

"Found you."

_This voice – _Her eyes opened and – _damn it_ – there were tears in them, she whipped around to see him cross the little stream with a single stride. Not even a hop, just one stride of his long legs.

"Weren't you – "

"I left early."

"How did you – "

"Yashiro-san told me."

"Don't you – "

"I missed you."

He had reached her, and placed a hand against her cheek, and she cursed her tears again because they kept obscuring his face. Her favorite, most precious, most-yearned-to-see sight in the world.

He bent to pick her up, held her like a princess, whispered against her mouth _I missed you_, kissed her like a lover.

She held on to him as if she had been lost at sea for fifty years and he were the first life raft. _I was deluding myself_, she thought. _There's just no way that I'm less in love. _She smiled into his kiss._  
_


	8. This Is Such A Pity

A/N: Whoa! Since when do I update _this_ fic? Since right now, apparently. Sorry for the atrocious delay - I've only got three songs left on this challenge (well, two now), and for the longest time I'd be laboring under the impression that I _just didn't want_ to write for two of those three songs (the third song has a fic already started, but it's gargantuan, so we'll have to see what I do with it). But finally I have ideas that I actually like for the remaining unidea'd songs, so chapter 9 should be up fairly soon as well. Anyway, this is kinda **ShoxKyoko**, I'd place the genre in **angst** and the rating in **K+ for minor language** (Sho's a vulgar type). The song is **This Is Such A Pity by Weezer** (which can be listened youtube (/) watch?v=BmSl6ZljvJk), although I admit I didn't keep _entirely_ true to the spirit of it... Standard disclaimers and standard pleas for R&R apply!

* * *

_How is your heart little darling?  
I didn't mean to get so mad.  
Let me just hold you closely.  
How did things get so bad?  
I know how to pick on you.  
You pushed me over the edge.  
We caused so much agony.  
We can't seem to move ahead._

_This is such a pity.  
We should give all our love to each other.  
Not this hate that destroys us.  
This is such a pity._

**This Is Such A Pity**

The fact that he had seen her honest, unaffected smile shine at him from her latest TV commercial at least a million times over the past week had absolutely nothing to do with Sho's decision to end their stupid competition. Nothing at all. There's no way something like what she looked like when she was happy would have any effect on his mind (or heart, or dryness of mouth, or ability to sleep at night). She wasn't even pretty.

He just got sick of it, that's all. He got bored.

Sho swung his bare feet onto the coffee table. Shoko would yell at him if she saw, but Kyoko never bothered about that kind of thing. If he made a mess she'd just clean it up after he'd left. Much simpler. That was obviously why he wanted her back. Nothing to do with her smile.

Kyoko's commercial ended and Sho found himself completely uninterested in the variety show that resumed in its place. He mashed at the power button and the TV flashed into silence. He stared at the empty screen for awhile, seeing ghosts of her smile hover behind the glass.

"Arrrgh!"

He sat up suddenly, with violent motions, perched at the edge of the couch, and settled himself over his knees. The remote control clattered to the floor. Sho regarded his clasped hands angrily, but the emptiness of his apartment wore him down. Shoko didn't let him live at her place anymore. Idiot useless D-cup manager. He _hated_ living alone. The sharp glint in his eyes faded and he looked away, as if he were embarrassed of showing a vulnerable face to his own fists.

"She's an actress. Just because she smiled like didn't mean she was actually happy. She can probably smile like that at the drop of a yen." _What if she wasn't ever happy when she was smiling? Girls don't become top-notch actresses overnight. Maybe she was always just acti– she's not top notch!_ "Someone probably showed her a picture of a fairytale castle or something! She's so simple, that totally would'a worked! Yeah! I mean, this is the simpleton that gives her own stupid names to name brand makeup. It's downright _easy_ to make her smile like that." (Her face appeared again in his mind, her cute, swishing little haircut; her soft, open eyes; the easy gestures of her hands through water; the tender expression of joy on her face that was so subtle it barely even qualified as a smile, so powerful that it made his heart clench every time he saw it – and he knew he was lying to himself.)

Sho noticed that he was pacing. He stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets. And then, with the beautiful intuition of a song, the idea came to him.

He didn't tell Shoko where he was going. She nagged and whined and talked _forever_ about risk management, but all we would say was "I'm going out," and then he slipped out the door when she had her back turned, her ear connected to a phone connected to Sho's favorite chauffer. He left the door open (for silence), and lengthened his strides even more than usual (for speed) as he made his way toward one of Akatoki's back exits. He was already wearing the necessarily long (green, military-styled) trench and as he walked he buttoned and tied it closed to hide his skin tight black pleather top and the expensive rips in his jeans. He removed a few of the piercings from his ears that might give him away, shoved them into the pocket from which he produced a dark brown fedora (that was, through some miracle of rock and roll, not completely crumpled). He squashed the fedora down on his hair and imagined that he looked like a spy out of an old American movie. In fact, what with the blond sticking out at quick little angles from beneath the brim of the hat, the several remaining piercings, and the heavy, many-buckled combat boots he wore on top of his jeans, he just looked like a dangerous punk. But that worked, too. All he wanted was not to be bothered or – especially important – recognized until he found Kyoko.

The train was mobbed – it was 5:00 in the afternoon – and by the time he reached his first line change his face was already trained into exactly the right kind of scowl to convince even the other dangerous-looking punks to leave him alone. _This is why I wanted to be famous! All these damn people crowding around just piss me off. Major celebrities like me shouldn't have to deal with this!_

He threaded his way through the exiting crowd at LME without exciting too much attention. Once inside, he hunted down a girl who looked like she was into visual kei (it wasn't hard – Sho could spot a member of his target fanbase a mile off) and did his best to replace the scowl with his best breadwinner smirk. He did quite well.

"Hey," he called, and the girl looked up from shuffling through papers on a clipboard.

She eyed him uncertainly for a moment before responding. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for Mogami Kyoko. You know her?"

The girl continued eyeing him. "I don't know any Mogami…"

"Sure you do. She's little, about your size, short dyed hair, weird colored eyes – kinda like…" he paused for a moment. Kyoko's eyes were as familiar to him as his own; he had never bothered to think about _exactly_ what color they were. "…like the color of a latte, you know, milk and coffee?"

"You… do you mean the actress Kyoko-chan?"

"Uh, yeah." Seeing that the girl was about to get defensive, he changed his smirk to a mysterious smile (another lucrative expression) and added "Kyoko's a friend of mine. I knew she'd be in the office tonight, but I don't know where... Think you could help me out?" _Ha hah! I am SO GOOD! I have no idea if she's here tonight, but this girl's totally gonna help me find out!_

The girl suddenly felt like the space between herself and the tall, edgy-looking young man with the (_positively mesmerizing_) gray eyes had diminished to just a few centimeters (it hadn't). Her face heated up, her pulse raced, and about a hundred rumorlicious ideas scrambled around in her mind. (The two best were: OHMIGOD is this Kyoko-chan's _boyfriend?_; and Uwaaaah, I wish he would smile so mysteriously for _me!_)

"Uhhhh, I mean, yes! Yes, Kyoko-chan should be in the LoveMe room down that hallway – " she started to gesture helpfully but he was already walking away, winking his thanks. The girl's legs gave and she fell knock-kneed to the floor.

Had the hallway leading to the LoveMe room not been fortuitously abandoned, Sho's smug, maniacal grin would have completely given him away. He fiddled with a little box in his pocket and made fun of the name "LoveMe" to distract himself from the nerves produced thereby.

Kyoko met him in the hall. He didn't even have to knock.

The expression of shock on her face was priceless. Before the anger set in, or the outrage, or that singularly murderous aura he felt whenever in her presence, there was unadulterated surprise. Her eyes went even wider than usual (_I was totally right! Her eyes really are the color of a perfect latte!_), her little mouth fell open, and her whole body stalled in a sort of emotional short circuit that made her look more vulnerable than stiff. Sho felt his blood pressure surge – he liked that expression; he _loved _it; he wanted to see it again.

"Again," because it disappeared within milliseconds, replaced by all the ugly, black-purple reactions he had come to expect from her. But that was ok too – this was his effect on her for the moment, and she was as helpless against him as she had ever been. He smirked at her.

"Sh-sh-shoutarou! What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, obviously. Figured you were probably bored and lonely, wasting away at a talent agency when you have no talent…" He paused to watch for the inevitable outburst. The only thing that got her riled up faster than accusing her of being talentless was accusing that no-brain-pretty-boy Tsuruga of being talentless, but he couldn't just bring that guy up out of the blue. And sure enough, like a jack-in-the-box, he could see her spring winding tighter and tighter, the force of her anger building against her weak-hinged self-control, and soon she would explode at him and he would hide his glee beneath a preternatural expression of disdain.

Suddenly the tic-tac of professional pumps sounded from a distant part of the hallway and Sho's excitement blossomed. Not only would she explode like a child, she would do it in front of her workmates, which would be totally embarrassing… (A small part of his mind processed the idea that maybe humiliating and infuriating her wasn't the best way to accomplish his goals, but it was just _so much fun_…).

Abruptly, Kyoko's cumulonimbus clouds of anger dissipated and her boiling face was replaced by one of bullet-sweat determination. She grabbed Sho by the wrist, hauled him into the LoveMe room and slammed the door shut in less time than it took his reflexes to register the danger. He had been sprawled violently across a locker room bench before he even had a chance to try to get her hand off him. He lay semiprone on the bench, staring at her, and she stood heaving by the door, eyes shut, one hand still on the knob.

Sho sat up and rubbed at his wrist. "What the hell, Kyoko, that hurt! What're you try–"

"What," she interrupted, "are you doing here?"

The smirk returned to his face, but more out of habit than genuine disdain. He was a little bit nervous. "I told you, didn't I? I knew you'd be–"

She opened her eyes and glared at him, and he felt all the air in his lungs freeze.

He stammered, then stood to his full height and took a step toward her. She stiffened and removed her hand from the door knob.

"Ok, ok, I'll tell you the real reason. God."

Inwardly, Kyoko panicked. _There's a real reason? He isn't here just to torment me? What other reason could he possibly have?_ But her face did not change.

Sho closed his eyes and sighed, and when he opened them again they held an expression that Kyoko had not seen in a very, very long time. Sho-the-rock-star was gone. Sho-the-boy-who-knows-and-is-known-by-Kyoko-better-than-anyone-else-in-the-world looked down at her with sober gray eyes. She caught her breath but kept her glare.

"I'm done with the competition," he told her.

"….. What?"

"I'm done with it. I don't wanna play anymore. I want you back." _This'll work…_

"You… you what?" Kyoko gasped as she spoke, her frigid glare froze to zero and shattered. _Where did all the air go?_

"That's what you wanted, right? You wanted to be with me. Except I was a jerk and I didn't want you, so I dumped you and then you wanted revenge. But I want you now." He fished the box out of his pocket and tried desperately to ignore the pounding of his heart. _It's not like I particularly like her, I just miss my live-in maid. And my live-in comedian. And my live-in person who knows everything about me_._ She's gonna say yes_. He extended the box to her. "I'll be nice this time." Hidden inside the box was a delicate platinum chain bracelet (_It's not like she deserves platinum, but since I can afford it…_) laced with tiny, dark garnets and brilliant little amethysts. Sho had seen it in a catalog Pochiri had given him and it struck him immediately as something she would love – it looked like something a fairy might wear.

Kyoko regarded him again with that open expression of shock, but he wasn't enjoying it as much this time. Even if it was just to get his maid back, he was _really_ uncomfortable showing an emotion like this. _But it's Kyoko, so it's not like she's gonna turn me down or anything… It's not like she's gonna… she's not gonna…(-(-she's not gonna break my heart-)-__)_.

Kyoko, meanwhile, was battling against a breakdown. She felt like he'd punched her in the gut. Like he'd stolen her lungs out through the mouth. Like he'd ripped the rug out from under her and taken her feet along with it. _He wants me back? He wants me __**back**__? How can he… what does he think… I don't underst… What?_ She was six years old again, and her face was covered with tears, and her mother had just finished degrading her for getting a 91 on her math test but then finished it up with a quick smile for the 99 she got on her Japanese test and Kyoko was desperately trying to collect her heart back into one piece so she could smile and be grateful.

When she spoke to Sho it was in a ragged whisper. "You want me to come back to you."

Sho cleared his throat. "Yeah. I, uh… I miss…" he cleared it again, "I miss your laugh." It was probably the most honest thing he'd ever said to her, and he was beginning to panic. "Come back and live with me. I won't be there much so you won't have to work too hard, and I promise I'll be nice whenever I'm around. I'll buy you presents and everything. Like this, um, here… take it, will you?" _Why the hell does it sound like I'm begging? I'm not the one that should be begging!_ He took another two steps forward, grabbed her hand, wrapped it around the little box.

Kyoko was shaking. She lifted the box to her eyes, then lifted her eyes to him, and Sho admitted it. He'd denied it for almost a year, loudly declaimed it to himself and the world, but it was true and he had to admit it: _She's beautiful_. She reached up slowly and pulled his hat off his head, _It's him, right? It's really him?_ Sho's eartip heated up where she brushed it accidentally.

_It's him._

She lowered her face, lowered her fists, and Sho could see his hat trembling in her grasp.

"You… are so selfish. You never think of anyone but yourself. Never. You really think _I_ want _you_ back? You tossed me aside like garbage and you really think I would still have feelings for you?"

Sho's eyes went wide. She shoved his hat and box back at his chest.

"Go away," she said.

"Kyou –"

Finally, she brought her eyes back up to meet his. They were full of tears, but her cheeks were dry. She stepped away from the door, pointed at it. "Go away. Go away, Sho. I don't want to see you."

"But –"

She opened the door for him, looked back down at the floor. Sniffled. "Leave."

Kyoko spent that night sobbing quietly in her bed. Sho spent it alternately smashing his furniture and writing some of his best music to date. But – and this was a first for them – their feelings were perfectly in sync. Finally, after nearly a year apart, after a lifetime of shared memories, it felt to both of them like a breakup.


End file.
